Spectrum
by Cyberfairy
Summary: Unfinished piece intended to recapture the Next Generation 'feel' with a new ship and characters the Federation receives an invitation from the mysterious Katari who dwell beyond Federation space, and sends the USS Spectrum to make first contact.


_THIS IS AN UNFINISHED PIECE OF WORK THAT I WROTE A FEW YEARS BACK AS A ONE SHOT INVOLVING NEW CHARACTERS AND A NEW SHIP CALLED THE SPECTRUM – IT WASN'T REALLY INTENDED AS A 'COMING TOGETHER' FOR THE CREW LIKE A PILOT EPISODE, THESE PEOPLE HAVE CLEARLY SERVED TOGETHER FOR A FEW YEARS AND THIS IS JUST 'ANOTHER MISSION' FOR THEM._

_I WROTE IT WITH THE INTENTION OF RECAPTURING SOMETHING OF THE 'FAMILY ATMOSPHERE' THAT I FELT WAS PRESENT WITH STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION WITHOUT RETREADING TOO MUCH OLD GROUND._

_SINCE IT HAS BEEN GATHERING DUST ON MY HARD DISK FOR SO LONG I THOUGHT IT'D GIVE IT AN AIRING BY POSTING IT – IN THE UNLIKELY EVENT THAT ANYONE WOULD LIKE TO TAKE WHAT I'VE DONE AND RUN WITH IT THEN THEY'RE MORE THAN WELCOME!_

_Captain's log, stardate 49098.5_

_The __Spectrum has reached the coordinates specified by our most recent orders from Starfleet, where we await the arrival of another Federation vessel, the identity of which I haven't been made aware. I can only assume that this other ship is carrying with it a passenger who is of some importance to our next mission, but any specifics were omitted in the subspace message I received five days ago. Therefore, I'm forced to operate in the dark until which time Starfleet chooses to enlighten me._

**PROLOGUE**

Captain Jeremy Trent stood on the bridge of his starship, his eyes fixed on the main viewscreen ahead of the two forward consoles, considering this barren region of space inside which the _Spectrum_ now resided.

The ship lay in interstellar space many light-years from the nearest inhabited planet, on the edge of Federation territory in the Beta Quadrant. Trent had come to realize that in many respects, the fringes of explored space along the Federation border had become home to him and his crew, and that piloting the _Spectrum_ within the well-known sectors of Federation space was something of a rarity.

"I'm detecting another ship," Lieutenant Scott Walker announced from his tactical console on the upper quarterdeck, "It's the USS _Lancaster_."

Trent placed his hands behind his back, watching intently as a tiny point of reflected light became visible in the far distance, slowly becoming larger as its distance from the _Spectrum_ decreased. As the incoming spacecraft drew closer, he was able to recognize the familiar and graceful lines of an excelsior-class vessel, a model of Starfleet ship conceived nearly a century earlier whose design had endured well into the 2370s. Of course they were no longer constructed at Starfleet shipyards, having been replaced by the ambassador and later galaxy-class vessels, but the remaining excelsior ships continued to serve the Federation.

"We're being hailed," Walker said.

Trent nodded in silent acknowledgement. "Put them on," he replied, awaiting the opening of communications that he hoped would herald some information regarding his orders.

The viewscreen image of the nearby _Lancaster_ faded away, replaced by an interior view of an older bridge manned by the usual contingent of officers monitoring and controlling the operations of their starship. The command chair, positioned on a raised pedestal that gave its occupant a good view of the operations center, was occupied by a young captain with the spark of youth in his eyes.

Although Trent had no basis on which to speculate, he surmised that the _Lancaster_ was the first ship to be commanded by this individual. There was a pride visible on the man's expressive face that Trent recognized from his own youth, when he had received his initial command and launched himself into the endless void of space aboard his own starship with his own crew.

"_I'm Captain Matthew English of the Lancaster,"_ the master of the other ship began by way of an introduction, unconsciously punctuating his rank and reinforcing Trent's initial suspicion that this man had only recently been promoted.

The commander of the _Spectrum_ smiled. "Captain Jeremy Trent," he responded, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even if our meeting must take place out here in the middle of nowhere."

"_I find it exhilarating to be so far from home,"_ English said with a grin, _"We've been cruising systems in the centre of the Federation for the last few weeks."_

Trent nodded, recalling how he had been assigned similar missions when he had been given his first starship. English was obviously yearning to be out on the frontier, blazing new ground and making a name for himself with high-profile explorations of uncharted space. But Trent's many years of experience had imparted the knowledge that flying into the unknown was a dangerous pursuit, and would often result in the deaths of crewmen under one's command.

Nonetheless, Trent didn't begrudge the young captain his hunger for unexplored space, only too aware that almost all first-time starship commanders harbored those desires. Time would mellow Matthew English, and bestow a more realistic approach to interstellar discovery, but until that time came to pass Trent knew that nothing would quench the young man's thirst for the galaxy.

"_I'll keep this brief,"_ Captain English began, swiftly dispensing with the niceties and adopting a more professional tone, _"I've brought Admiral Alynna Necheyev from Starbase 302, she has with her your latest mission orders."_

"And where is the admiral now?" Trent asked with a frown, curious as to why Necheyev herself wasn't on the _Lancaster's_ bridge conducting the communications.

English leaned forward in his command chair. _"On her way to our transporter room,"_ he answered, _"She wishes to beam to your ship as soon as possible."_

"We await her arrival," Trent told him, deciding that these mission orders must have a great importance to warrant their personal delivery by such a high-ranking member of Starfleet.

English gave the senior captain a broad smile. _"Good to meet you, captain,"_ he said jovially, _"Lancaster out."_

Trent's eyebrows rose in surprise at how quickly English had concluded their conversation, and as the viewscreen returned to its previous image of the nearby Starfleet vessel, turned toward the tactical station.

"Should I roll out the red carpet?" Walker inquired wryly.

Trent grinned, privately admitting that if any member of Starfleet actually warranted or expected such antiquated and grandiose treatment, it would be Alynna Necheyev.

"I think we can dispense with it on this occasion, Mr. Walker," the captain muttered, "However I think an escort from the transporter room to the bridge would be appropriate."

Apparently, Walker understood the silent instruction he was being given, for he instantly relinquished the tactical console to another officer and headed for the nearest turbolift alcove.

Trent waited until his weapons officer had entered the awaiting turbolift car before turning on his heel and striding across the bridge toward the set of doors that gave access to the adjoining ready-room.

"I hope everyone is on their best behavior," he said remarked under his breath as he stepped through the doors.

As she lowered herself into her chair, Admiral Necheyev took a cautious sip of her coffee, pausing to savor its taste before speaking.

"I haven't much time, captain," she began, placing her cup and its accompanying saucer on the polished wooden surface of the desk, "Three days ago Starbase 638 received a communication from a world on the limits of known space, a region that has thus far only been explored by unmanned probes."

On the other side of the desk, Captain Trent leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he listened to and absorbed the admiral's words. Although he wasn't aware of the locations of every Starfleet outpost, for there were now over seven-hundred such facilities as the Federation absorbed new members, he recalled that Starbase 638 was one of Starfleet's outermost stations.

"The transmission was sent by a race known as the Katari," Necheyev explained briskly, "As a people they are unknown to the Federation but have apparently been monitoring us for some time, and have recently decided to make themselves known."

Trent felt an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach, grimly awaiting the news that these enigmatic Katari had made some sort of hostile action toward Federation space, or made a threat of some kind in this transmission received by Starbase 638.

An expression of amusement suddenly formed on Necheyev's face. "You need not worry, captain," she assured him lightly, taking a second sip of her freshly-replicated coffee, "The message packet sent by the Katari was a diplomatic overture. They've invited us to visit their world and exchange ambassadors, as a possible precursor to Federation membership."

Trent allowed himself a brief sigh of relief, gratified to hear that the Federation wasn't facing yet another hostile alien race. The discovery of the Bajoran wormhole three years earlier had prompted the emergence of the Gamma Quadrant's Dominion as a formidable opponent, and the rising hostilities with the Founders and fearsome Jem'Hadar had in turn led to the latest Klingon offensives.

"The Federation Council has concluded that this offer is one that we should accept," Necheyev continued, "And your experience with first-contact situations and high-profile diplomatic assignments makes you the ideal candidate to take your ship to Katari Prime. With all due respect to our friend Captain English, I don't believe he's ready to embark on such a mission at this stage."

"I can appreciate that, admiral," Trent replied slowly, his mind already planning how he would conduct first-contact with this new species deep in uncharted territory, "And I'm pleased that you consider me worthy to oversee these proceedings, but I'm a little concerned about taking the _Spectrum_ into the territory of an alien empire that we know absolutely nothing about, so far from Federation space."

"I understand your concerns," Necheyev told him, the expression on her face informing him that she genuinely sympathized, "But the Federation Council doesn't want to send a fleet to Katari, they're worried that such a course of action may alarm these people. They feel that if we conduct this encounter badly, we may drive the Katari into seeking an alliance with the Romulans or Cardassians. Perhaps in the longer term they may even request membership of the Dominion."

The admiral's words did little to allay Trent's fears, despite the importance placed upon his mission, the assignment still involved taking his ship far beyond the borders of the Federation, and out into completely unknown space to the heart of an alien empire. There were few Starfleet captains who would gladly permit their ships to journey to the core of Klingon or Romulan space, and these were races with whom the Federation was very well acquainted.

Nonetheless, as a Starfleet officer he was compelled to carry out the wishes of the Federation Council, despite whatever objections he may harbor. Trent was aware that although she was willing to discuss his concerns, Admiral Necheyev would not be diverted from the purpose given to her by her superiors.

"I'll have my ship prepared for our voyage," Trent told her, drawing in a long breath as he slowly became resigned to his fate.

"Excellent," Necheyev concluded, rising from her chair and thereby prompting the captain to follow, "I'm afraid we have almost no intelligence regarding the Katari, what little information we have about them was contained within their original message packet to Starbase 638. I'll have Captain English transmit everything Starfleet has on them as soon as I beam back to the _Lancaster_."

"That would be much appreciated, admiral," Trent said.

Necheyev moved to leave the small private suite, but glanced back at the commander of the _Spectrum_ before departing. "Katari Prime is sixty light-years beyond the Federation border at Starbase 638, at warp eight you should make the trip in just over three weeks. I wish you good luck, captain."

Trent inclined his head slightly. "Thank you," he responded, "Somehow I have a feeling that I may need it."

Necheyev neglected to reply to his final comment, she simply exited the ready-room onto the _Spectrum's_ main bridge, where Scott Walker had diligently been awaiting her reappearance.

Alone again in the solitude of his office, Trent turned to gaze out of the window set into the bulkhead behind his desk. Even at warp factor eight, close to the maximum velocity that his starship could sustain for any period of time, it would take the better part of a month to reach the homeworld of the mysterious Katari.

If his worst fears came true and the Katari were in fact a hostile race who had constructed an elaborate ambush, then even Starfleet rescue ships dispatched by the closest Federation outposts would require weeks to make the voyage, straining their warp engines for the entire duration of the flight.

Once the _Spectrum_ achieved orbit above Katari Prime, Trent and his crew would be completely alone.

**CHAPTER01**

For twenty-three days, the crew watched unfamiliar stars streak past the viewports as nothing more than long streaks of light, as the _Spectrum_ continued its odyssey out into unknown space toward the Katari Empire.

Now, as their voyage across over sixty sectors began to reach its inevitable conclusion, Captain Trent stood in the conference lounge adjacent to the main bridge, his gaze directed out at the galaxy and the stars that lanced sharply away into the distance. All around him, his starship propelled itself toward its destination at warp factor eight, the cruising velocity that it had maintained for the duration of the trip.

The captain turned as he heard the doors to the lounge hiss quietly open to admit another officer, and looked across the large room's polished mahogany conference table at the familiar visage of his executive officer.

"Excuse me, sir," Commander Rupert Taviner apologized quickly, speaking in what Trent decided was an unusually formal tone, "Am I intruding?"

Trent shook his head, endeavoring to dispel the younger man's concerns at having interrupted his commanding officer. "Not at all," he replied warmly, gesturing for Taviner to enter, "Please join me, commander."

Taviner stepped fully over the threshold and into the lounge, allowing the twin door panels to slide closed behind him. He carried with him a small datapadd that presumably contained some sort of report pertaining to the ship's current status, the sort of routine update that was brought to the captain several times every day.

"Is something wrong?" Trent inquired, regarding his first-officer with a somewhat suspicious eye due to Taviner's silence.

"According to files uploaded to us by the _Lancaster_ three weeks ago," Taviner began, "We should be approximately ten hours out from Katari Prime."

Trent gave him a short nod of acknowledgement before directing his attention back toward the viewport and the vista it provided of the starry deep. "At last," he muttered quietly.

Taviner drew closer to the captain, proffering the datapadd as he advanced. "I think you should take a look at this."

Almost reluctantly, Trent accepted the small device and scrutinized the report displayed on its miniaturized screen. The contents of the padd related to the most recent data gathered by the ship's powerful long-range sensors, which had been constantly surveying this area of the galaxy for the entire journey.

Even as the captain absorbed the information on the padd, Taviner took it upon himself to provide a commentary, condensing the data and giving Trent an overview.

"In the last hour we've detected a number of heavily-armed ships operating in this sector," Taviner told him slowly, as if hesitant to impart their latest findings, "We're also picking up powerful orbiting weapons platforms around several planets within sensor-range."

Trent considered the information thoughtfully, using his thumb to scroll through the section of the report pertaining to estimated power output of these orbital weapons and the tonnage and armament of the warships observed by the _Spectrum._

"We're obviously entering the heart of their territory," the captain said, "One would expect to encounter such things when approaching the homeworld of a large interstellar civilization."

"I just thought you should be informed, sir," Taviner replied.

"Of course," Trent agreed, "But we can expect to encounter ships and colonies in greater frequency as we draw nearer to Katari Prime. Hopefully our hosts will open communications with us before we enter their atmosphere."

Taviner smiled, and Trent was relieved that he'd managed to soften the mood somewhat with his last comment.

"Nonetheless," the captain continued, "I'd like the ship placed on yellow-alert as we make our approach, I don't think we can afford to be complacent whilst we're surrounded by the warships of the Katari, no matter how well intentioned these people may show themselves to be."

The gentle trill of an intercom call suddenly permeated the worried atmosphere of the conference lounge, accompanied by the disembodied voice of Lieutenant Walker.

"Bridge to Captain Trent."

Trent instinctively tapped the small combadge affixed to his uniform top, though the motion was unnecessary whilst he was aboard the starship. "Go ahead, lieutenant," he responded crisply.

"We're being hailed by Katari Prime, captain," Walker informed him.

Trent's eyebrows rose in mild amusement. "Right on cue," he said softly before raising his voice to acknowledge Walker on the bridge, "Understood, lieutenant. I'll be right there."

Taviner grinned. "Let's make first-contact."

Lieutenant Scott Walker glanced up from his weapons console as he heard the doors to the conference lounge open, and watched the progress of Captain Trent and Commander Taviner as they descended the short flight of steps into the central command arena.

As the tactical officer assigned to the starship, it was his responsibility to ensure that the _Spectrum_ was always poised to combat whatever might threaten the safety of its crew as it explored the unknown reaches of space. Their current mission objective to make contact with the people of Katari Prime, had involved a three week flight into the uncharted depths of the Beta Quadrant, a place that lay beyond where even the furthest unmanned Federation probes had reached.

Throughout their voyage, Walker had meticulously conducted high-level diagnostics of the many shipboard systems that came under his prevue, but had directed his scrutiny primarily at weapons and defenses. But aside from his relentless monitoring of the _Spectrum's_ phaser-banks, quantum-torpedo systems and tactical deflector-grid, Walker had ensured that the large contingent of security officers aboard the ship, the group of crewmen who reported directly to him, had been subjected to continual drills over the course of the last twenty-three days and nights, intended to prepare them in the event that the _Spectrum_ was invaded by Katari boarding parties.

"We've been contacted by First Minister Beda Vath of the Katari Ruling Council," Walker informed the captain, his hand hovering over the flashing panel on his console that advised him of an incoming communication, poised to answer the call.

Standing just ahead of his command chair, Captain Trent placed his hands behind his back in preparation to make the first direct contact between the United Federation of Planets and the Katari Empire.

"Put the First Minister on the viewscreen, lieutenant," Trent instructed him.

Walker tapped the appropriate controls, and the stars streaking past the main viewer dissolved to show the exotic features of the alien.

It was at that point the tactical officer began screaming.

Captain Trent barely given the duration of a heartbeat to absorb the image of Minister Beda Vath, the political leader who had apparently been chosen to be the first to speak with the Federation representatives.

On some level, Trent's eyes recognized that the Katari race possessed enlarged frontal lobes on their foreheads, and slightly upswept ears that could have almost been Vulcan in origin. Vath's slightly leathery skin had an azure hue, though this may have been due to racial differences within the Katari, and not a trait that was common to all members of this species.

But before either representative could utter a single word, whether it be Minister Vath at his offices on Katari Prime or Captain Trent aboard the approaching starship, a piercing scream that spoke of sheer terror assaulted their ears.

Trent winced at the sound of a man consumed by uncontrollable panic, and spun frantically toward the tactical console where he saw Lieutenant Walker thrashing about on the deck, obviously experiencing some sort of mental distress.

"Computer!" Trent cried over the hideous screams, even as Commander Taviner pushed past him to help Walker, "Cease communications!"

The viewscreen containing the likeness of the shocked Minister Vath obediently, and somewhat mercifully, went blank before resetting to the image of streaking warp stars.

"Scott!" Taviner was shouting at the tactical officer, tightly gripping Walker's upper-arms and shaking the sobbing man, "What's wrong?"

Trent watched, shocked that a member of his command staff had broken down so spectacularly in the light of the Katari minister's appearance on the viewer.

But Walker wasn't finished.

Pitifully gasping in breaths of air, Walker raised his head to look at the captain, his red eyes and flushed complexion a frightening specter of whatever pain he was suffering. His face was contorted into a mask of sheer terror, sending shivers down Trent's spine as he met the man's gaze.

"Turn back, captain!" Walker cried hoarsely, "They'll destroy us!"

Taviner was struggling to restrain the tactical officer, and other crewmen rushed to his aid to keep Walker on the deck in case he made a desperate lunge for the captain.

"Don't trust them!" the broken man spat, his tearful eyes penetrating deep into Trent's soul.

"Get him to sickbay!" Trent snapped with barely restrained anger that surfaced even through his sympathy for Walker. He was unable to suppress the rage that this encounter with the Katari had begun so badly.

Taviner rose to his feet, relinquishing control of the situation to the two security officers who had helped him restrain the tactical officer. Walker was somewhat calmer now, though he still had the appearance of a person who had been broken, and staggered pathetically toward the turbolift. The security officers were forced to partially carry Walker, for his legs collapsed underneath him several times before the trio reached the turbolift chamber.

Despite his concern for Walker, Trent couldn't help but feel a sense of relief when the doors closed and his bridge was silent once again.

Taviner gingerly returned to the command arena, visibly shaken by the experience of having to almost pin down one of his friends as they struggled beneath him.

"I can't understand what happened to him," the first-officer said breathlessly.

Trent looked at his second-in-command for a long moment, the feeling of alarm building within him despite Walker's departure. "Whatever it was happened as soon as we opened communications," he observed grimly.

"Could the Katari be using some sort of weapon again us?" Taviner asked.

Unfortunately, Trent had no more information with which to answer the question.

"It was almost as if the sight of the First Minister triggered some sort of primal fear within Lieutenant Walker," the captain said quietly, uncomfortably aware that the eyes of the bridge crew were upon him.

"But none of us has ever encountered this species before," Taviner pointed out, "We're the first Federation ship ever to make contact with the Katari."

"That's precisely what troubles me," Trent told him, a course of action suddenly becoming clear to him, "Work with Commander Chaplin to check the communications log of the Katari transmission, look for anything unusual. Perhaps some sort of telepathic broadcast was hidden within the subspace carrier-wave."

Taviner nodded. "I'll get right on it," he said, quickly turning and heading for the nearest turbolift which would carry him through the decks of the starship to the engine-room.

Trent drew in a long breath, preparing himself for the resumption of communications with the Katari, and mentally rehearsing the explanation he would provide to First Minister Vath. Reluctantly he turned to address the officer who had assumed control of the tactical station.

"Can you locate the source of the Katari's previous transmission?" the captain inquired.

The lieutenant consulted his console, his fingers touching points on the board to determine where Minister's Vath's signal had originated. "I've got it, sir," he confirmed after a moment.

"Hail them," Trent ordered.

For the second time that day, Beda Vath of the Katari appeared on the bridge's main viewscreen. The expression on his alien face spoke volumes about his mood, and Trent could see that this individual expected answers.

"I'm Captain Jeremy Trent of the Federation starship _Spectrum_," he began formally, valiantly attempting to retain as much professionalism as possible in the light of what had happened, "I offer my apologies that you were forced to witness the unfortunate reaction of my officer, I'm afraid I can offer no explanation why he would react in such a manner."

Trent purposefully omitted any sort of description of Walker's warnings about trusting this race, deciding that providing this information was unnecessary and would only inflame an already precarious situation. Admiral Necheyev had made it clear how much importance the Federation Council placed upon this particular mission.

"_I'm First Minister Beda Vath of the Katari Empire,"_ the other man responded, his face retaining its expression of concern, _"On behalf of my people I welcome you to our space and accept your apology."_

Trent tried not to allow the immense feeling of relief to become visible to Vath. "I'm grateful," he said, pleased that this first-contact situation could still be salvaged, "On behalf of the United Federation of Planets I accept the invitation to visit your world, and have brought with me one of our most noted ambassadors."

Vath bowed his head, apparently in a Katari gesture of politeness or welcoming. _"I was concerned when you terminated communications following the collapse of your officer,"_ he admitted solemnly, _"Could my appearance have affected him in some way?"_

Trent sighed. "I'm not sure," he answered honestly, "The officer in question has been taken to our sickbay where he'll undergo tests, but I'm at a loss to explain his reaction."

Vath appeared to take a few seconds to gather his thoughts before he spoke again. _"My thoughts are with him,"_ he said finally, _"But I hope that this unfortunate incident will not cloud relations between our two peoples, and that our meeting can take place as planned."_

Privately, Trent wondered if it could be viewed as disrespectful to Walker to continue with this first-contact before they could determine exactly what had happened to him. But relations with the Katari were already sensitive enough, and postponing the starship's arrival at their planet would almost certainly be interpreted by Beda Vath as being motivated by distrust for his people.

"I would like that also, minister," Trent answered, "We're scheduled to arrive at your home system in approximately ten hours. Is that acceptable?"

"_Certainly, captain,"_ Vath said, _"We have been preparing for your visit for several weeks. I have already dispatched two of our own vessels to meet your ship and escort you into orbit around Katari Prime."_

"I await their arrival," Trent finished politely, sensing that their conversation was drawing to a close.

"_As I do yours,"_ Vath replied.

The Katari first minister vanished from the viewscreen, replaced by the warp stars that accompanied the ship's faster-than-light passage through space.

Trent felt the tension flow from him like a river once Vath had terminated the communication, but was nonetheless pleased with how the exchange had gone. He felt that he had managed to salvage the situation well, providing the Katari representative with enough information that his curiosity had apparently been satisfied.

But he was unable to dismiss the discomfort he experienced at the prospect of being herded by two Katari spacecraft, already uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable the ship was in this alien empire so far from home. The arrival of those two vessels would only reinforce his feeling of isolation.

And in the back of Trent's mind, Scott Walker's words still cried out their warning.

The Katari could not be trusted.

As he entered the ship's primary sickbay, Captain Jeremy Trent hesitated as his gaze met that of Doctor Joanna Chandler, the chief medical officer assigned to his vessel. For a timeless moment, he held his breath, confronted by the memories of a ten-year marriage to this woman as he stared into her icy blue eyes.

Even seven years after they had separated, Trent knew that their souls and fates were still inexorably joined, linked by the unspoken bond they continued to share.

Chandler looked away first, breaking the connection as she encircled the central biobed situated in the surgical bay. The bed was occupied by the unconscious form of Scott Walker, whose immobile body was partially covered by a thin blanket.

As Trent approached, he could see the small scanners that had been affixed to his tactical officer's forehead, obviously designed to precisely monitor the patient's neurological activity.

As she loaded a hypospray with medication and pressed the injector nozzle against the base of Walker's neck, Chandler glanced up at her captain with a pained expression on her face.

"How is he?" Trent asked, respectfully keeping his voice to little more than a whisper in the silent surroundings of the medical facility.

Chandler chewed her bottom lip nervously as she considered what to say, mentally condensing the complex medical readings she'd taken into layman's terms. When he'd met her for the first time in seven years upon her posting to his ship, Trent had been mildly amused to discover that she still chewed her lip under pressure.

"I'm using a somnetic inducer to keep him sedated for the moment," she told him finally, folding her arms across her chest, "Until we find out what triggered his reaction I'm not particularly eager to wake him."

Trent moved to stand beside her. "I've spoken with the Katari representative," he said, looking down at Walker, "He doesn't appear to be aware of what could have caused the lieutenant to react this way, but I don't think we can rule out the possibility that this was somehow intentional."

"That isn't the most comforting sentiment, captain," Chandler muttered.

"Indeed," Trent answered in agreement, "Have your tests offered any answers whatsoever?"

Chandler shook her head. "I've performed a full series of neural scans and found nothing beyond my initial suspicions," she said reluctantly, "Lieutenant Walker has suffered a major psychological trauma, and his brain is in a state of hyper-activity."

"Have you seen this condition before?" Trent asked her.

"Only in mental health patients," she replied, "Which leads me to believe that Walker may be feeling the effects of a psychological trauma that could have taken place in the past."

Trent frowned. "At the hands of the Katari?" he asked, "But this species was unknown to the Federation until a month ago. There's no way they could have inflicted any sort of harm on him."

Chandler shrugged. "I can't give you the answers you're looking for, captain," she snapped, perhaps a little more fiercely than she'd intended.

The intercom chimed before the captain could respond, and the voice of the ship's first-officer came flooding into sickbay.

"Taviner to Captain Trent."

"Go ahead, commander," Trent called, hoping that his second-in-command had made some progress down in engineering.

"I've been going over the Katari transmission with Commander Chaplin," Taviner explained, "We've been through it with a fine toothcomb and we haven't found anything that could explain what happened to Lieutenant Walker."

"Acknowledged," Trent said, looking at Doctor Chandler beside him, "I appreciate your efforts, commander. First Minister Vath has informed me that two Katari ships have been dispatched to intercept us and provide an escort for the remainder of our journey."

"Why don't I find that particularly encouraging?" Taviner asked, the question obviously rhetorical.

Suddenly, the shipboard communication systems trilled for the second time, indicating that another audio channel had been established to sickbay.

"_Bridge to captain,"_ the voice of Lieutenant Commander Sorak, the ship's operations officer called, _"Please come to the bridge."_

"What's the problem, Mr. Sorak?" Trent inquired.

"_We have detected a ship directly in our flight path,"_ the Vulcan informed him, _"It appears to be adrift and heavily damaged."_

Trent closed his eyes, astounded at how wrong this simple first-contact mission was going. Katari vessels were closing in all around, their intentions still unknown to him and his crew, and the ship's tactical officer was lying unconscious after being driven to the point of insanity by the sight of Beda Vath.

But even under the worst of conditions, Trent was still a Starfleet officer aboard a Federation starship, and carried with him certain responsibilities that he was unable to ignore.

"Bring us out of warp but keep our distance," Trent ordered slowly, "I suppose this gives us the opportunity to show the Katari our good intentions."

Less than three minutes after the ship's long-range sensors had detected the presence of an obstacle in the vessel's flight-path, and Commander Sorak had alerted the captain, Trent emerged from the forward turbolift.

Surveying the large command centre, he was pleased to note that most of the senior officers had already occupied their positions at their customary stations, with the notable exception of Scott Walker at tactical.

"Slowing to impulse," Lieutenant Kimberly Lawson announced from the helm.

Trent felt the deck beneath him shudder slightly as his starship slid out of warp and decelerated to sublight velocity, and as Sorak stood and vacated the command chair, Commander Taviner strode from the aft turbolift alongside chief engineer Tom 'Charlie' Chaplin.

On the main viewscreen, an alien vessel was now visible.

It didn't appear to be an especially large spacecraft, and as Trent glanced down at the proximity warnings on the helm console, he estimated its overall length to be no more than two hundred meters. That made it just under a third the size of the _Spectrum_, although its internal volume was far less than a ship of comparable length.

This vessel was unlike any Trent had seen, for it appeared to be constructed from remarkably thin fibers of hull material, which had been intertwined to create the structure of an interstellar ship. Within these sparkling strands were more solid structures, specifically three large ovoid compartments positioned along the vessel's centerline, presumably the inhabited sections of the ship inside which the crew resided.

It was also trailing long tendrils of violet drive plasma.

"That's one hell of a ship," Taviner commented quietly as he descended the steps and moved to stand alongside his captain.

Trent nodded in silent agreement, though he restrained himself from making a similar observation. "Can we identify it?" he inquired, realizing that it was extremely unlikely that the _Spectrum's_ computers would recognize a vessel from this region but asking nonetheless.

"It doesn't match anything in our database," Commander Chaplin answered, peering over the tactical officer's shoulders at the weapons console, "And I don't recognize it as being derived from any race that's known to the Federation."

Trent hadn't expected this remarkable vessel to familiar to either his crew or the ship's vast computer library. However, he was concerned that whoever had inflicted such damage to it may still be nearby.

"Red alert," the captain ordered, "Raise shields and ready all weapons."

"You think that their opponents are still in the area?" Taviner asked.

"It's a definite possibility," Trent confirmed, glancing across at his operations officer, "Run a full scan of that ship, Mr. Sorak. I'd like to know if anyone requires our assistance."

The Vulcan tapped a command sequence into his console, pausing for a moment as fresh sensor data scrolled across the panel. "It would appear that the vessel's engine-core was damaged in battle," he said, "The entire ship is permeated with radiation."

"Any lifesigns?" Taviner inquired grimly.

"Only one," Sorak told him, "In the forward section near the bow. Biomass readings throughout all compartments indicate that most of the crew has perished."

Trent's eyebrows rose in surprise, as he considered how fortunate this individual had been to survive a tragedy that had killed the rest of his crewmates. But this person was also probably lying unconscious somewhere, injured, surrounded by corpses and slowly succumbing to the poisonous effects of the radiation. Clearly, he had to be rescued as soon as possible.

"Can we establish a transporter lock, Charlie?" the captain asked his engineer, the sense of urgency present in is voice. If the _Spectrum_ could simply spirit this sole survivor away from the alien ship without having to risk a boarding party, all the better.

Up at tactical, Chaplin was swiftly entering commands in an attempt to discover if the transporters could operate through the radiation.

The captain shared a long history with Chaplin, whom he had known for nearly two decades following his assignment to the previous ship to have been commanded by Trent. For as long as he could remember, he had referred to Tom Chaplinssel'long the centreline parkling strands were more solid structures, ovoid compartmentssy thin fibers of hull material, which as Charlie. He understood, according to the explanations of others, the moniker was derived from an ancient entertainer back on Earth.

Charlie was well liked by everyone aboard every ship he'd ever served upon. He was a large man with a quick wit, and being born in the same decade as Trent himself gave the two a measure of common ground upon which a strong friendship had been built. Trent also considered Chaplin to be one of the best engineers in Starfleet.

"If we diverted auxiliary power to the transporters," Chaplin announced finally, "We should be able to grab him, but I'd recommend us moving closer."

Trent nodded crisply. "Bring us to within fifty meters," he ordered, not wanting to leave this person in that tomb a moment longer.

At the captain's side, Taviner tapped his combadge. "Bridge to Doctor Chandler," he called, "We're sending you a patient suffering from radiation poisoning."

"_Acknowledged,"_ the doctor answered from several decks below.

"And set up a containment field!" Chaplin threw in, working at the tactical board, "This guy is more radioactive than a warp-core!"

Trent waited tensely, allowing his experienced command crew to attend to bringing this injured person aboard the _Spectrum_ without exposing the ship's complement to radiation.

"Locking-on," Chaplin reported, "Energizing!"

The powerful technology of the lonely Federation ship reached out to the nearby vessel, targeting the sole survivor and converting his injured body into subatomic particles. In this disassembled form, he was drawn back across the void, where the constituent atoms that made up his form were swiftly reassembled in sickbay.

"Transport complete," the chief engineer announced finally.

Trent's raised a hand to his breast to activate his combadge, with the intention of hailing Doctor Chandler to request a report on her patient's condition. But before his fingers could tap the touch-sensitive surface of the communicator, Commander Taviner cried out to him.

"I'm detecting an overload in that ship's reactors!" the first-officer called urgently, scrutinizing his personal terminal where he'd obviously been monitoring the status of the other vessel, "Our transporter beam must've triggered some sort of cascade reaction!"

Trent spun around to face him, shocked that their attempt to rescue the alien survivor was going to result in the explosive detonation of what was effectively a floating tomb. "Can you stop it?" he demanded, just as fiery green explosions began to rip across the nearby vessel's stern, where its engines were presumably situated.

"There's not enough time!" Taviner shot back, his face betraying his feeling of shock at what would momentarily take place, "Those reactors are about to reach critical-mass!"

"Move us away, ensign!" the captain commanded, directing his instruction toward Lawson at the helm.

As the _Spectrum_ slowly moved off under impulse power, blinding arcs of electrical energy began to leap across the alien ship, blowing vast sections of flaming hull out into space. Within seconds, most of the vessel was consumed by plasma fire, until the entire spacecraft erupted into blazing shards that spun away into the void.

Silence reigned in the command-centre of the Federation starship. In the aftermath of the alien vessel's fiery death, the senior officers manning the various bridge stations had adopted a respectful hush, as befitted the situation.

After what seemed like an eternity, Trent spoke up, as the last of the flames were extinguished by the airless vacuum of space, and the final pieces of wreckage vanished from the viewscreen.

"Resume our previous course," the captain ordered quietly, keeping his gaze directed downward as he considered how the final resting place of the alien crew had been destroyed. However well-intentioned his intervention had been, it had also decimated this tomb.

But despite what had happened, Trent decided that nothing more could be achieved by remaining in this place. He only hoped that Joanna Chandler could save the individual who had been beamed away, salvaging a life from so much death.

Around him, the _Spectrum_ accelerated smoothly into warp, and Trent directed his attention at his chief engineer. "I want answers, Charlie," he said formally, "I want to know how our transporter-beam could have caused the destruction of that ship."

Chaplin nodded grimly. "Aye, sir," he answered.

Trent headed for the turbolift. "I'll be in sickbay," he told Taviner, aghast at how badly this mission was proceeding as he walked away.

**CHAPTER02**

Commander Rupert Taviner was the last to occupy his seat around the long conference table in the starship's main briefing room, unable to banish the sudden feeling that everyone's eyes were upon him. He was aware that he was a little late for this scheduled meeting of the senior staff, since this group of people would gather on a daily basis to discuss the operations of their vessel, but a last-minute issue had forced him to remain on the bridge.

"Nice of you to join us, commander," Jeremy Trent muttered quietly as his first-officer entered and hurried to take his position to the captain's right.

Taviner felt his cheeks flush slightly, and he forced an embarrassed smile at being made a spectacle by his commander. "Couldn't be helped, sir," he explained quickly, endeavoring not to sound too apologetic since he had only been doing his duty, "Ensign Lawson just detected another series of Katari weapons-emplacements along our course, she wanted to bring them to my attention."

Trent silenced any further explanation with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Understood," he responded quickly, surveying his assembled officers gathered around the table, "Mr. Chaplin, how is your investigation into the accident proceeding?"

That statement in itself spoke volumes to Taviner about how troubled the captain was at present. Generally, Trent would refer to his chief engineer and old friend as 'Charlie'.

Chaplin leaned forward in his chair, interlocking his fingers and placing them on the table. "I've examined the sensor-logs of the seconds leading up to the explosion," he explained, "I've found nothing conclusive that indicates that our transporter-beam could have caused the explosion."

"No evidence whatsoever?" Trent asked.

Chaplin shrugged. "Nothing conclusive," he repeated slowly, "We're dealing with completely unknown alien technology, the transporter could have caused a cascade reaction in the vessel's reactors but I can't be certain."

Trent didn't appear to be satisfied with the report. "Commander, I fully expect to answer questions from the Katari about our involvement in the destruction of a ship in their space," he said sharply, "Regardless of our good intentions we apparently destroyed the vessel and the bodies still aboard."

"But this ship was obviously involved in a battle before we arrived," Taviner pointed out, "We didn't kill those people."

Trent shook his head. "Nonetheless," he said, "We desecrated their final resting place, and I am fully prepared to accept any consequences."

"Maybe our guest can give us some answers," Taviner replied, glancing toward the ship's medical officer in an attempt to redirect the conversation somewhat.

"The power-systems on the alien ship don't operate like anything we're familiar with," Joanna Chandler began, "They've generated an unfamiliar form of radiation that has infested his body. I've managed to banish most of it into subspace with the equipment available to me but he is still suffering from serious radiation poisoning."

"And his prognosis?" Trent prompted.

"It's too early for me to say with any certainty," Chandler replied, "But the next five hours will be crucial."

"Do you best, doctor," the captain urged needlessly, "Your patient may be the only person who can tell us what actually took place on that ship."

Following Trent's statement, a lull descended over the conference lounge, an uncomfortable period during which the assembled command staff appeared to consider their respective contributions to their current circumstances.

Taviner shifted in his seat, finally deciding to put forth an opinion that he was certain the captain wouldn't welcome.

"I think we need to consider the possibility that the Katari were responsible for the attack on the alien ship," he said.

Trent glanced up. "I'd don't relish the prospect of making such an accusation to First Minister Vath," he said, "Especially considering our current location so deep in Katari space."

"Nonetheless," Taviner continued, "We still don't fully understand the part they played in Lieutenant Walker's breakdown."

The captain regarded him with a suspicious eye. "Are you saying we can't trust the Katari, commander?" he asked curtly.

Taviner drew a long breath, carefully considering his next words. As a Starfleet officer, he was aware that without conclusive evidence of Katari involvement in these two events, Walker's reaction to Vath and the attack on the alien ship, he couldn't make accusations. But over his fifteen years of service, he had also learned to trust his instincts.

"I feel that we have to be cautious," Taviner said evenly, trying to keep his voice neutral, "The Katari appear to be a powerful civilization, and we're in the centre of their territory with very little chance of escape if they become hostile."

"There are too many suspicious circumstances," Commander Chaplin threw in, apparently in agreement with the first officer.

Taviner couldn't help but draw strength from Chaplin, and knew that having the chief engineer of the starship backing him up would force Trent to take his concerns seriously.

"Then what would you have me to?" Trent inquired, his tone almost too relaxed, "Accuse the Katari? Come about and head back to Federation space? I'm afraid that Admiral Necheyev will require something a little more conclusive than 'suspicions' if I'm to cancel this mission."

"I don't think going home is an option," Chandler said, "As I understand it we're several sectors into Katari space. If they don't want us to leave, we're not going anywhere."

"These are baseless accusations!" Trent snapped suddenly, rising sharply to his feet. Such an emotional outpost was very rare from the captain.

"Are they?" Taviner asked, his expression becoming equally intense.

Captain and first-officer met each other's gaze for a long moment, neither man willing to concede the point. Trent's concern for the ship's safety wasn't in question, but Taviner knew that the responsibility for the mission's success also weighed heavily on the captain's shoulders.

"_Bridge to captain,"_ a voice called, shattering the tense atmosphere of the conference lounge.

"Go ahead, Mr. Sorak," Trent responded, keeping his eyes locked on Taviner.

"_We have been intercepted by two Katari warships,"_ the Vulcan operations manager informed him crisply, _"They are assuming flanking positions to port and starboard."_

Taviner felt his chest tighten as he listened to Sorak's words, as if the two vessels were somehow constricting him personally. "No escape," he whispered, loud enough so that only the captain could hear.

Trent looked at Chaplin and Chandler in turn, before glancing back at his second-in-command and responding to Sorak. "Open hailing frequencies," he ordered.

With that, Trent strode purposefully out of the lounge and onto the bridge.

Taviner watched him go.

Once the doors slid closed behind Trent, the three most senior officers aboard the ship below the captain remained in place.

"This isn't easy for him," Chandler said after a few moments of awkward silence.

"I never said it was," Taviner replied carefully, "But we're sixty light-years from Federation space, if we get into difficulty out here it'll take weeks for reinforcements to arrive."

"The captain has the responsibility of making this mission a success," Chaplin told them, staring out of the viewports at the streaking warp stars, "The Katari are looking for allies, and the Federation Council is afraid that if they don't admit them, they could join the Romulans or even the Dominion. He can't turn us around without evidence of Katari involvement in either Scott's condition or the attack on the ship we found."

"Between a rock and a hard place," Chandler quoted under her breath.

Taviner looked at her. "Get our guest conscious, doctor," he instructed her, "He knows who attacked that ship. If it was the Katari, I think we have to seriously consider attempting to get back to Federation space."

The doctor and engineer glanced at each other, then gave curt nods of agreement.

Taviner only hoped that if relations with the Katari took a turn for the worse, the _Spectrum_ could outrun these warships.

Captain Trent considered the viewscreen image of the Katari spacecraft that was holding a relative position to port, and decided that it was an impressive vessel.

Though as long as a _sovereign_-class starship, the Katari ship was taller and wider than the _Spectrum_. Physically, the vessel bore a passing resemblance to a Klingon battle-cruiser, though the hue of its hull plating was primarily violet with furious red engine outlets to stern.

"We're receiving a transmission," Sorak announced.

Trent placed his hands behind his back, moving into a position between the forward command consoles. "Onscreen," he ordered.

The man who appeared on the main viewer was younger than Minister Beda Vath, the previous individual with whom Captain Trent had held a conversation with.

"_I'm Kandar Sira Oben of the Katari warship _Valem_,"_ the commander of the other vessel said by way of an introduction, _"I have been sent to provide an escort for you and your vessel to our homeworld."_

"I'm Captain Jeremy Trent of the Federation starship _Spectrum_, on behalf of my people I welcome your arrival and thank you for providing escort."

Kandar Oben inclined his head politely.

Trent decided from the alien's inflection that the word 'Kandar' was a title, presumably the equivalent of a Starfleet captain.

"_I'm afraid our presence may be a necessity,"_ Oben explained, _"Our long-range sensors have detected the presence of Makloid raiders in this sector. They may wish to take advantage of your unfamiliarity with this part of space."_

Trent instinctively tensed at another perceived threat to his ship, despite the danger that he felt the _Spectrum_ was already in. "Makloid raiders?" he repeated curiously, eager to learn as much as he could about this new species and their possibly hostile intentions.

The Katari commander on the viewscreen nodded grimly. _"A small race of pirates who operate throughout this region,"_ he elaborated, adjusting his position in his plush chair, _"This are more of an annoyance than a serious threat, but Makloid spacecraft regularly attack commercial shipping."_

The captain took a little comfort in this statement, aware that freighters were generally equipped with only minimal armaments, making them an easy target for piracy. Whoever these Makloid pirates were, they would almost certainly have a difficult time overpowering a powerful starship such as the _Spectrum_.

But Trent was able to draw an obvious conclusion from Oben's description of the Makloids, and couldn't disregard the possibility that the alien ship they'd encountered belonged to this race. Or perhaps it was more likely that these Makloids had been responsible for the attack on the beautiful spacecraft.

However, in the back of his mind, Trent was unable to discount the possibility that the Katari were simply attempting to cover their tracks.

"I'll be on the lookout for them," he assured Oben quickly, feeling the words choke him as he realized how serious the lie was. A lie of omission certainly, but Trent knew that by withholding information about the destroyed ship and the survivor being carried aboard the _Spectrum_, he was jeopardizing the mission even further.

But how could he fully trust these mysterious Katari after the events surrounding Lieutenant Walker's breakdown, and the tactical officer's crazed warnings about them?

Walker was, despite his current circumstances, a loyal and trusted member of the ship's command staff. Walker was an honorable man who had served alongside Trent for nearly a year as his chief tactical officer, and had acted above and beyond the call of duty many times during that period.

Could Trent really dismiss Walker's claims so easily?

"_We will continue to escort you until we reach our homeworld,"_ Oben informed him swiftly, obviously drawing the conversation to a close, _"I look forward to meeting you in person on Katari Prime."_

Captain Trent inclined his head politely. "Thank you," he responded, "_Spectrum_ out."

The computer understood the command via its voice-recognition protocols, and automatically terminated the subspace connection between the two ships.

After allowing himself a few moments of silence to reflect on his short dialog with the alien commander, Trent regarded the austere Vulcan officer seated at operations.

"Estimated time to the Katari system, commander?"

Sorak briefly consulted his multiple sensor screens. "Approximately eight hours, captain," he answered.

Trent nodded in absent acknowledgement of the report, his mind elsewhere. "Maintain course," he muttered.


End file.
